


I Sang For You

by orphan_account



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 19:50:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2037852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maglor, looking back on his brother's deaths after the Second Kinslaying</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Sang For You

I was breathless when we fought our way to you, Maitimo and I. You three…

Do you know what it was like? You were always moving, _always_.

Tyelco, you, always prowling through the underbursh like a wolf, or riding through tall grasses, the wind whipping at your hair as you urged your horse onwards, racing against Curvo. We could always find you up a tree or leaping down from one. Chatting with the birds, you said. Even just before we left for Doriath. What were you saying to them? I know I never asked, but would you have told me if I did? Would I have wanted to know?

Carnistir, you were always gesticulating wildly, even during the most mundane conversations. We could gauge your passion about anything by how quickly your hands moved, did you know that? Quick motions, efficient, and they got your point across. You moved like that when you were fighting too. Sparing with Maitimo, or Ambarussa, or me. Not a single movement wasted, because each could be your last.

Curvo. You bastard. You arrogant, short-sighted, brilliant bastard. Always caught up in your next project, so much like Atar. I remember seeing you in the forge. Just so _absorbed._ Your footsteps were quick, you glided across your workshop, knew exactly what tool you needed, exactly how to strike to mold the metal to your will. You attempted that with people. When you knew what you were doing, you did well. When you didn’t, you got yourself banished from Nargothrond.

When we found you you were still. Shadows covered you, the air stank of blood. Behind us, the shouts still echoed through the halls of Menegroth, and footsteps, and the sound of steel against steel.

Not in the chamber we found you in.

It was silent.

We ran to you, I refused to believe it when I saw it was your bodies I was staring at. Curvo, dead already, as was Tyelco. You were in each other’s arms! Carnistir, you were nearby. You still lived, though I could see the life draining from your eyes fast. Did you hear me, as I knelt down by your side?

I sang for you.

Ambarussa came running then, barreling in through the wide open doorway.

“ _We have to get moving,_ _ **now!**_ _”_

He stopped as Maitimo and I glanced up at him. His eyes caught on your bodies. He stood there, speechless, shaking his head. You could just see what was going through his mind. _Not again, not you, not again…_

We burned your bodies outside Doriath. We didn’t have time to give you a proper burial, I think you understand. Do you remember…

Do you remember the other funerals we attended? The friends and commrades-in-arms we saw for the last time? Do you remember Fingon’s? There was no body, of course. Maitimo’s face was so still, he just stared forward, silent the whole night through. I never wanted to see him like that again. I never thought I would.

I was wrong.

The smoke stung my eyes. The smell of burning flesh made my stomach twist. It made me remember…

Huh. No. You know what it made me remember.

I watched the fires devour all three of you, red sparks leaping up into the dark night. I watched your bodies blacken and turn to dust. No bloodied corpses, ruined by arrows and sword wounds. Not for a Feanorian. All that remained of you were charred bones.

I sang for you then too.

That song still haunts my dreams you know. It’s why I am here now. I heard Maitimo earlier…

“ _Erestor, he stormed back there yesterday and I’ve not seen any sign of him since. He cannot just lock himself away-”_

“ _My lord, you know how he gets. Give him time.”_

Time. Ha! Give me my harp, a stack of parchment, and a pen!

You remember that song I wrote all those years ago, don’t you? I brought it with me when I came up to Himring. The old drafts. I’ve always carried them with me. Do not ask me why I saved them. It just seemed…important I suppose. To remember.

Your song twisted in my mind with that one. My old Ñoldolantë. I could not get it out of my mind. So yes, I stormed back into my room and locked the door. I threw open every drawer, spilled the contents out over the ground. I _searched._ Do you think Atar would be proud of me in that moment? Of the passion I showed?

And I’ve been trying, since then, to fix this song. To include our latest misdeeds. To repent? Perhaps.

But more importantly to _remember_.

Yes, I am singing for the lives that we have taken.

But I am also singing for _you._


End file.
